


Drive Home - A Shizuo Heiwajima Oneshot

by rizanicole



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M, Friendship, One Shot, One of My Favorites, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizanicole/pseuds/rizanicole
Summary: Shortly after moving to Ikebukuro, she'd heard all about the city's local legends, and become particularly interested in two of them. The last thing she expected was that one would end up as her cab driver.





	Drive Home - A Shizuo Heiwajima Oneshot

I tried in vain to cover my head as I looked for a place to escape the pouring rain. It seemed to have come on completely out of nowhere; I’d just finished up my shift at the restaurant, locked up for the night, and stepped out into what felt like a torrential downpour. 

I spotted a small overhang and ducked under it, relieved to be out of the rain as I cursed the weather under my breath. Looking up from my drenched clothes, I read the sign on the door and saw that I’d landed in front of a small pastry shop. I smiled to myself, in spite of the situation. They were long closed at 23:30, but just knowing that quaint places like this could exist in this crazy city made me happy. 

I stood up to my full height and leant my back against the glass door, pulling out my cell phone and tapping at it insistently as I tried to find a ride. I’d love to have my own car, but living in a town where everyone walked most everywhere, it wasn’t the most practical possession. 

Except, of course, in situations like this one.

I sighed as I found the nearest ride on my phone and pressed “confirm.” It would apparently take the driver a full 12 minutes to reach me, which wasn’t so bad, but I was ready to get home to my dry apartment. 

There were still a few cars passing by every now and then, their headlights and the street lamps illuminating the night with a yellow glow. As I stared out across the street, watching rain water flowing into the storm drains, I thought about the strange city I lived in. Ikebukuro could be beautiful, but it was also a bit of a concrete jungle. I noted the high-rise buildings surrounding me on all sides. Most all of the shops around here were closed, but in other areas of the city, rows of clubs and bars would still be displaying bright neon signs, welcoming patrons who were just starting their Saturday nights.

The most interesting thing about this town, though, was its strange cast of characters. It wasn’t at all like the small town I was from, where everyone knew everyone else’s business. No—in Ikebukuro, new people were coming and going constantly, and knowing everyone would have been impossible. But there were always the few local favorites that everyone seemed to talk about, though most of us had never actually met them. 

I thought back to a few days before, when I’d seen two of those local legends for the first time. A crooked smile came over my face at the memory. 

I’d been minding my own business, just walking home from the grocery store in the middle of the afternoon, when I’d heard a shout of “IIIIZAAAAYAAAA!!” Whipping my head around in the direction of the noise, I managed to spot a flying vending machine shoot past me and smash into the street.

Huh. That was certainly new. 

The people around me quickly hurried either into shops or away from the street we were on, trying to avoid what seemed to be quite the fight. I moved to follow them at first, but I was clumsy, trying to carry three large grocery bags, and ended up near the back of the crowd. When I heard what sounded like cracking concrete, I turned back around.

With almost everyone out of the way, I now had a clear view of what was going on. There was a man probably ten meters from me, wearing a black coat with a fur fringe, staring up the street with a smirk. I followed his gaze to see a blond man in a bartender outfit, carrying a stop sign that had apparently just been torn out of its foundation. “Carrying” really wasn’t the right word for what he was doing, though; to be more accurate, he was wielding the thing like a baseball bat.

I’d figured out by now that I was looking at Ohihara Izaya and Heiwajima Shizuo, and I should have been ducking for cover, but I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the scene. I’d heard people gossip about these two before, of course, but I’d thought their stories must have been wildly exaggerated. Seeing with my own eyes that Shizuo could, in fact, throw a vending machine down two city blocks had me rooted to the spot. What else were these two capable of?

Unfortunately for me, I wouldn’t find out much more that day, as Shizuo bellowed Izaya’s name once more before running in the man’s direction. Our eyes met for only a second as he closed in on Izaya, who was still nonchalantly examining his switchblade. I can only imagine that Shizuo must’ve been wondering why the hell I was still standing there, but his focus shifted from me as soon as Izaya turned and ran. I watched Shizuo chasing him down the street out of sight, swinging the stop sign into parked cars, buildings, and anything else unlucky enough to get in his way. The crashes and bangs faded into the distance, until the street was quiet again.

People slowly began peeking out of shops after a few moments, checking to see if the coast was clear, and then began to trickle back into the street. Soon enough, everyone was back to their normal routines. People sidestepped the overturned vending machine and the soda cans rolling out of it like they had always been there, not worthy of their attention. In the back of my mind, I wondered how neither of these two men had been arrested yet, and why no one seemed to be moving to file a police report. But if the veteran locals weren’t worried about it, I reasoned, then I wouldn’t be, either. 

An especially loud crack of thunder pulled me out of my thoughts, and back to the rainy night in front of me. I sighed wistfully. I’d hardly been able to get those two out of my head since I first saw them, and there was no telling how many times I’d played the scene over in my mind. I’d run into a few of Ikebukuro’s other famous characters before, like the (supposedly) headless rider on her black bike and plenty of guys who seemed to be associated with color gangs, but Shizuo and Izaya had certainly put on the most exciting display I’d seen so far.

Through the sheets of rain, I saw a black sedan pull up to the corner near where I was standing. The driver flashed their lights once, and a glance at my phone confirmed that this was the car I was waiting for. I quickly braced myself before running the short distance to the car, swinging the door open, and throwing myself into the passenger seat. I slammed the door behind me, effectively cutting off the rain.

I smiled victoriously and sat up properly, buckling the seat belt across myself. Once I was finally situated, I turned to thank my driver for fetching me in this awful weather. But, when I saw his face, my words got caught in my throat.

Sitting across from me, with one arm draped lazily over the steering wheel, was none other than Heiwajima Shizuo himself. 

The man in question had been staring straight ahead when I first looked over at him, but now turned to look at me as he seemed to notice my stunned silence. He raised one eyebrow curiously, as if asking why I’d suddenly frozen in place.

“Sorry,” I said as I dropped my eyes, not entirely sure how to address him. “I just wanted to say thank you for picking me up in this weather.”

He grunted in response. “Do you still need to go to the Nishiguchi Park Apartments?”

Well, he certainly didn’t seem to be much one for conversation. I nodded my head. “Yes, that’s my home.”

Shizuo simply nodded and put the car back in gear, pulling away from the curb and starting towards our destination. 

We spent the first few minutes of the trip in silence, the only sounds coming from the rain outside and the windshield wipers working overtime to combat it. Usually, chatting with my cab drivers came naturally and easily, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t think of what to say to him. I found myself feeling nervous, which seemed completely ridiculous. Shizuo was a dangerous man, no doubt, but everything I’d heard indicated that the only person he _really_ wanted to kill was Izaya. Surely an attempt at lighthearted conversation wouldn’t be enough to make him angry with me…

Would it?

Perhaps against my better judgement, I decided to give it a try. Between the fact that my apartment was on the other side of town and the horrid weather, getting home might take quite a while.

“So,” I began a bit uncertainly, “are you from around here? I don’t see many blonds in Ikebukuro.” I silently hoped it wasn’t too nosy of a question.

He grunted again, not taking his eyes off the road ahead of him. “It’s dyed.”

“Oh,” I responded simply. That didn’t exactly answer my question, but at least it was something. He didn’t seem actively irritated with me yet, so I decided to try again.

“I’m from a small town, myself. This place is a lot different, but I really like it here.” No reaction. “Do you like living here?”

He gave a somewhat exaggerated sigh, and then just shrugged. I looked at him expectantly for several moments more, but when he didn’t choose to elaborate, I turned my gaze to the street in front of us. 

At this point, I felt like I needed to choose my words carefully. I knew that it would probably be smarter to just be quiet and leave him in peace, but at the same time, this might be the only chance I ever got to talk to him. If I spent the rest of the ride in silence, I knew I’d be kicking myself over it for weeks.

Small talk didn’t seem to be working, so I decided to try a different approach, hoping it wouldn’t get me thrown back out in the rain.

“You… you’re quite well-known around here, aren’t you? But, I thought you worked as a bodyguard. I didn’t know you were a driver, too.”

Though he still didn’t turn to look at me, I could see his jaw clench, and instantly thought I’d made a mistake. I tried to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I saw you the other day and I was curious—”

He lifted up his hand, signaling me to stop, and I instantly went quiet. I hoped he hadn’t notice me flinch away ever-so-slightly. He sighed again, putting his hand back on the steering wheel.

“Yes, I remember you. The other day, with the grocery bags.” I nodded. “You were the only one stupid enough not to go inside.”

I frowned slightly. I was glad he was finally talking, but insults didn’t seem necessary. “I just wanted to see what was going on—”

“You could’ve gotten hurt. You shouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way like that,” he cut me off again. We were both quiet for a minute, then he continued. “To answer your question, I usually work as a bodyguard, yes. But I’m restless some nights. This is a good way to make extra money when I can’t sleep, anyways.”

I nodded again. It struck me as odd that he seemed to be worried about the safety of anyone who saw his fights. After all, I’d seen him throw a vending machine down the street earlier that week, which didn’t exactly scream ‘I’m concerned about public safety.’

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re a driver sometimes. It can be tough to find someone willing to pick me up this late, especially on this side of town.” I was smiling at him, but he was still looking straight ahead, so I’m not sure whether he noticed it. He nodded slightly.

I glanced out my window, and realized we were about halfway back to my apartment at this point. He was talking to me a bit now, not entirely begrudgingly, so I decided to continue. There was still more I wanted to know about this handsome stranger.

“So, how long have the two of you been rivals?” I knew this was a dangerous question, but I couldn’t help asking. Everyone I’d met in Ikebukuro seemed to know that Shizuo and Izaya hated each other, but no one had ever actually told me why. Somehow, I felt that not actually mentioning the other man’s name would probably be best.

I saw his eye twitch a bit in response to the question, but didn’t notice any other worrisome reaction for now. “Ever since school, actually.” He sighed again. It seemed to be something he did a lot. “He’s _always_ tried to get me in trouble, and blame me for things I didn’t do. I _hate_ him. And I can’t stop myself from acting on it.”

I could see by this point that his hands had tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles becoming white. I opened my mouth to try and change the subject, but he continued.

“I don’t like violence.” After taking a moment to process what he said, my expression changed from worried to confused. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d heard him correctly. “What?”

I could see him physically relax a bit, though it appeared to take a conscious effort on his part, as he was quiet for several seconds before he spoke again. “I’ve always been strong like this,” he began. “And I’ve never been able to control it. I have a short temper. When I’m angry, my body seems to act on its own. _He_ knows all of this, and uses it against me.”

I nodded my head, suddenly feeling quite sympathetic towards him. I’d heard from others that, before he became a bodyguard, Shizuo could never seem to hold a normal job. I imagine that would be hard to do, when you’re always angry and someone’s tormenting you constantly. 

Even more than that, though, I couldn’t help but think that Shizuo must be incredibly lonely. My heart broke a bit at the thought. Being afraid of your own strength would undoubtedly make getting close to people difficult. Now that I thought about it, everyone seemed to love to gossip about Shizuo’s fights with Izaya, but no one I’d spoken to had ever mentioned him having friends. 

I’d been silent for a while now, which must have eventually gotten to Shizuo, as he looked over at me for the first time in several minutes. He appeared a bit surprised at my expression, which I can only imagine looked pained. “Hm? What is it?”

“I… just… I’m sorry.” He was still glancing between me and the road, looking concerned, so I elaborated. “I’m sorry for prying, about your life. It’s not my business. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.” Before now, I’d thought he was just eccentric, and that I only risked injury to myself from asking questions. I certainly didn’t know he was hurting this way.

“Hm,” he said again, returning his attention to the road. He was silent for a moment, before adding, “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me to see it. “Thank you,” I said softly.

We spent the remainder of the drive to my apartment in silence. I again found myself unsure of what to say to him, especially now that I’d gone and put such a damper on the conversation. It seemed like there was no salvaging it, and nowhere to go from here.

Shizuo finally broke the silence when we arrived at the apartment complex. “Which building is yours?”

“Oh!” I said, grateful that he was willing to drop me off as close to my door as possible. Whether I was more looking to get out of the rain, or have a few more moments with him, I wasn’t sure. “The one in the back left.” I pointed towards the building through the windshield. He nodded, and turned the car in that direction.

I knew my time was limited, and sooner than I would have liked, we were directly in front of the door to my building. Shizuo shifted the car into park as he continued looking straight ahead.

I could feel my heart beating quickly in my chest as I tried to decide what to do. The logical answer was to just thank him for the ride and get out of the car, since all payment was handled through the app I’d first used to call him. But I just couldn’t stand to leave it like this. 

“Shizuo?” I asked hesitantly. He turned to look at me now, expression blank other than the one eyebrow raised. I found myself desperately wanting to reach out and hug him in that moment, to change that expression and make him feel _something_ other than emptiness or rage, but I resisted the urge.

“Please,” I began, “forgive me for being so forward, but I want you to have this.” I broke eye contact to look for something in my bag, pulling out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen soon after. He continued to look at me without saying anything as I scribbled my name and phone number down on the sheet of paper, tore it out of the notebook, and held it out to him.

When our eyes met again, I continued. “I know you don’t know me, and I realize that I don’t really know you, either. But… if you ever want someone to talk to—about anything—I’m here.”

He continued to look at me without speaking for a moment, before turning his gaze down to my outstretched hand. He looked at it almost curiously, then locked his eyes back with mine. I tried desperately to convey sincerity in my expression, and hoped he hadn’t seen the slight tremble in my hand.

“No,” he said finally. I felt my heart crack, and lowered my hand, deflated. But before I could turn and climb out of the car into the rain, which suddenly sounded more appealing than it had all night, he continued.

“I’m no good at reaching out to people. But, if you decide you haven’t made a mistake by trying to talk to me tonight…”

To my great surprise, he opened the center console to produce a napkin and pen. I watched in shock as he wrote down what appeared to be his own phone number. He held it out to me, and my suspicion was confirmed.

I reached out and took it from him, our fingers brushing only for a moment. I stared intently down at the napkin, not saying anything, before I looked back up at him.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Since you seem so intent on talking to me,” he explained simply. 

My face suddenly broke out into a smile as realization dawned on me. He didn’t want to have my number because he knew he wouldn’t reach out to me. Perhaps he would convince himself that I hadn’t meant what I’d said, or that I would regret having given him my number, even though that was completely untrue. This way, I would have time to think about our conversation tonight, and then decide if contacting him again was something I wanted.

“Thank you,” I said to him. He nodded in response, looking at me thoughtfully. I folded the napkin neatly in half and tucked it into my bag. “And thank you for the ride, Shizuo.”

Not wanting to linger too long, I unbuckled my seat belt, hoisted my bag over my shoulder, and opened the passenger door. I turned one more time to wave goodbye—he lifted one hand off the steering wheel in response—and stepped out into the rain, shutting the door behind me. I ran to the door, and once I was safely inside the building’s lobby, looked back out at the street.

I was just in time to see Shizuo’s car pull away from the curb, and seconds later, it disappeared into the night. I smiled to myself as I turned from the glass doors, walking over to the elevators and pressing the “up” arrow. As I stepped in and rode up to my apartment, I mulled over the night’s events in my head.

Just after I’d unlocked the door and stepped into my unit, I felt my phone buzz in my bag. I sat down on the couch and looked at it, seeing a notification from the ride-sharing app I’d used earlier. As per usual, it was asking how much tip I wanted to give.

After spending several minutes thinking it over, I went with the recommended amount. I surely didn’t want to leave too little, but I didn’t want to give too much and accidentally insult him, either. I would guess that he was a proud man. 

I next pulled the napkin out of my bag, counting all ten digits and smiling at the messy handwriting. I added the new contact in my phone and was tempted to text him then and there, but thought better of it; if he was worried I’d regret trying to talk to him tonight, it was better to wait a few days first. That way, he would know that I’d had time to consider whether trying to befriend the strongest man in Ikebukuro was a good idea.

It was only for his own reassurance, of course. I already knew that I wanted to talk to him again. I still couldn’t help but want to know more about him, and I wanted to show him that I wasn’t afraid. He obviously needed someone he could talk to, and lean on. Someone who cared enough that they refused to let him shut them out. I only hoped I could be that person. 

I went to bed that night with a smile on my face, resolved to contact him in two days’ time. I was going to become friends with Heiwajima Shizuo and support him with everything I had—this local legend would never even know what hit him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this oneshot! While I like the way it ends right now, I've also been playing around with the idea of adding a second part, since I left the ending kind of open. Let me know if anyone would be interested in a part two, and please leave a review if you don't mind! ^-^


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